


En Pointe

by DropOfGoldenSun



Category: Nothing Much to Do
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2018-07-16 04:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7253053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DropOfGoldenSun/pseuds/DropOfGoldenSun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beatrice Duke attends the prestigious Messina Ballet Academy with her cousin Hero. When a slew of football players is brought in to fill out the male cast of Swan Lake, things take a turn for the crazy.</p><p>Just fun, really. There was no Ballet AU so I wrote one. Beadick, eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 32 Fouettes

Beatrice Duke hated being called girly. She hated being called dainty. She hated being called “twinkle toes” and she hated the fact that balancing on a single toe while keeping her hips square, her tailbone in, her shoulders back, and her face plastered with a smile was seen as a lesser feat than some overly muscled guy running down a patch of grass. Ballet was fucking metal, and if you didn’t think that, Beatrice Duke did not like you. She had not trained her entire life to be looked down on by people who thought a pair of tights was a synonym for weakness. She’d like to see them try a triple pirouette on pointe. 

“Hero!” 

Her cousin, who was fouette-ing in fluffy socks on the hardwood floor of their dorm, did not answer. 

“HERO!”

Hero’s head jerked towards her cousin. She lost her spot, and her fleecy foot shot out from under her. She hit the floor with a soft thud and a vaguely annoyed look on her face. “Be a, what is it?

“Hero, look!” She tilted her laptop towards the floor. “This absolute douche-nozzle said that these rugby players ‘looked like they could be wearing tutus’ and so I said ‘I’d like to see those ball-hounds last five minutes in an adagio’ and HE said ‘sweetie-“

“Bea. “ Hero cut her off. “While you know I love your nightly Internet argument play-by-plays, I’ve really gotta practice. Auditions are next week and you know how badly I want Odette.”

Beatrice slid off her bed and leaned against its post next to her cousin. “Come on Hero, you’re a lock for the part. There’s no competition.” It was true. With Hero’s long legs, big eyes, and dainty charm, there was nobody at Messina Dance Academy who could compete. Bea was pretty sure that Miss Francesca had chosen Swan Lake with Hero in mind for the lead, and everyone knew come May it would be her wearing the signature white costume, feathers in her hair, evoking cheers on the part’s famed 32 fouettes. “And besides,” she added, “you know if you practice in socks your center of balance is gonna be all thrown off when you try it en pointe.”

“You’re right.” Hero sighed.

“I always am,” replied Bea, smugly. “Now go to bed. We have class in the morning.”

Hero dutifully pulled off her socks and shook the ponytail from her hair as she hopped into bed and under the covers. “’Night, Bea.”

Bea flicked off the lights. “’Night Hero.” As soon as Hero’s breathing was steady enough that she was surely asleep Bea pulled out a flashlight and a book. ‘Go to sleep’ was good advice for Hero, but that didn’t mean she would follow it herself. She didn’t need to. Hero was the one who would make it. Hero, who at age 16 not only got into the Academy but was allowed to dance with the 18 year olds like Beatrice. Hero, whose silky blonde hair never stuck up in the unruly flyaways of Bea’s own. Hero, whose thin and small structure only further ensured she would someday be a principal for a real company, maybe even the National Ballet. Bea loved her cousin more than anyone in the world, and her heart swelled with pride whenever she thought of Hero’s bright future, but there was a part of her –the unrelentingly competitive part- that wished she were the one getting scholarships and leading roles. She knew that everywhere she danced she was followed by whispers: “too tall,” “broad shoulders,” “I hear she eats something called chocolate salad,” but that only had the same effect as the rugby blog, a fierce need to prove them wrong. She’d land her switch leaps or do two more a la secondes than anybody else in the class, flash a smile at whomever made the snide remark, and go have some god damn chocolate salad. She knew it was petty just as she knew that it would be petty tomorrow when she’d find an empty practice room and do thirty three fouettes, but she didn’t really care. As long as she was happy and –more importantly- Hero was happy and safe. She wanted to set a good example for her younger cousin, and she wanted the girls in class to know that the Duke family was not one to be messed with. Be a could live with snickers and comments, but she would not let Hero have to.

 

The students at the Messina Ballet Academy had academics in the morning (“just enough,” the students joked, “that it isn’t illegal to send kids here”) and dance classes all afternoon. When there was a production to rehearse, it rehearsed in the evenings and all homework was forgotten. And so Bea and Hero did not see each other from breakfast until lunch, as Hero had schooling with her year despite dancing with Bea’s. By the time Bea woke up the next morning Hero had already left for class, her pajamas folded neatly at the foot of her bed. Bea glanced at the clock. 7:55. Crap, she wouldn’t make breakfast. She tugged on a rainbow sweater dress thing as she rummaged through her LunaBar drawer for a peppermint one, and jogged across the lawn to Messina’s one scruffy academic building. Sometimes she resented the objectively terrible education, but it meant that the teachers didn’t care if she read throughout the morning as long as she aced the tests –which she always did- and it was perfectly worth it for the dozens of weekly hours of ballet.

Ballet: the highlight of every Messina student’s day. 12:55 found dozens of girls rifling through their black leotards, searching for that favorite pair of tights, and carefully sliding pins into their buns. Once they were ready and had checked their bags for extra toe pads, stitch kits, and water bottles, they walked to the studios. Walked, always. While mornings were a scurry of running skipping and cart wheeling to get to school, once they were all dressed it dawned on them, collectively, what an ankle injury would mean, and slipping on the dewey grass suddenly seemed far more dangerous. Besides, they would never be late to ballet. Ballet was their lives. 

Bea propped her leg on the barre and stretched. Flexibility had never come naturally for her, but she worked her butt off to ensure that her splits were just as easy as those of her peers, her arabesques not a degree lower. She was usually the first one at class, and couldn’t help but feel slightly superior for it. She looked around at her class, taking everyone in for what felt like the millionth time.

There was Meg, who had done the Arabian dance in the Nutcracker last year and had hooked up with every straight boy at Messina. Given that it was a ballet school that number was around 6, but Bea still considered it an accomplishment on Meg’s part. She was fond of wearing bright red leotards, and didn’t mind that in a sea of black it ensured eyes being drawn directly to her.

There was Verges and Dogberry, the contemporary prodigies. They had won national competitions by wearing all black, painting their faces like leaves, and contorting their bodies to music that sounded to Bea like howling wolves. They’d entered the school to get a more “formal training,” something Bea agreed they quite needed. They were allowed to work with the staff to choreograph the rat dances the previous winter, and they turned out… interesting.

Balthazar had played Fritz. With a small stature and a high tolerance for turns he was the perfect male dancer. He was one of the few people at the school who brought something other than dancing to the school talent shows, too. While many of Messina’s teens considered doing tap and jazz being well rounded, he somehow found the time to write and perform music on at least six different instruments. He chatted with Meg while he pushed her toes to the floor, stretching her arches.

Meanwhile Hero was sitting in an effortless straddle split, leaning forward with her chin propped in her hands, pretending she wasn’t gazing at Claudio. Claudio had been the Nurtcracker to her Clara, and the whole school was waiting with baited breath for them to get together. Bea thought it was dumb. Just because they had done a pas de deux doesn’t mean they have to fall in love. Bea was firmly against love. Not only was it a distraction, it was just plain stupid. Bea would no sooner fall for a boy than she would fall out of a double turn in flat shoes. That is to say never. Or at least not since middle school. Bea saw Claudio notice Hero’s eyes on him and wave. Hero giggled. Bea rolled her eyes hard enough she could practically hear it. 

“Good MORNING class!” came a voice from the door. Every Miss Olivia did was grand and sweeping, even simply entering a room. At 34 she was youngest instructor at Messina, but fresh from the Italian National Ballet, and with training from the illustrious Royal Illyria School of Dance, Bea considered herself lucky to train under her. Plus, she was kind of a badass, and all the students had at least a little crush on her. 

The students all scurried to the barres. Claudio smoothed his hair. Hero fixed the bow on her warm up sweater while Bea jerked her feet into a turned out first position. 

“Before we start, I have an announcement to make!” Bea wondered what the announcement would be. They were bypassing auditions for Swan Lake? They were making mid year cuts to the program? “As you all are aware,” she continued, “we will be performing Swan Lake as our yearly ballet. However, it has been brought to the attention of the staff that we may not have numerous enough male talent to fulfill the needs of this particular ballet.” Were they going to cancel Swan Lake? Odette was all Hero had wanted all year! Bea could see from the look in Hero’s eyes that she was thinking the same thing. Beatrice was ready to fight whoever made this decision, and scowled as Miss Olivia continues, “Here at Messina we do not let things like that stop us though, do we?” Bea was confused. Where was she going with this? “As you may know, many sports coaches bring their teams here for ballet training to help with balance and agility. Namely, the New Zealand Junior Olympic Football team.” Where was she going with this? “A few of the boys on the team have showed exemplary skill in dance, and since Swan Lake will be rehearsed and performed entirely during their off-season, we have offered a few of them spots here at Messina until the production wraps. They will be arriving later this week. They are talented dancers and nice young men and I expect them to be treated as such. Now please take your spots at the barre, we’ll start with tendus.”

Football players? Beatrice was aghast. Football players were not nice young men. Football players would treat the girls like dolls, like frilly cupcakes instead of the athletes they were. Football players would make fun of the boys, call them names Beatrice didn’t even like to think. Football players would ruin Messina, and they would ruin Swan Lake. Bea’s head was so swarmed with insults for football players that she hardly noticed Miss Olivia begin to speak again.

“Oh, and I almost forgot! The school has decided it would be in our best interest to have Odette and Odile, traditionally played by one dancer, to be played by two. Keep this in mind when signing up for auditions on Tuesday.”

Bea looked at Hero, who was smiling. She smiled too. Hero had already been a favorite for Odette, but everyone had the same unspoken concern: could she play mean? Dancing Odette usually meant also dancing as the evil Black Swan, and could sweet little Hero pull that off? Now they didn’t need to worry. At least the football players wouldn’t be able to ruin that.


	2. First Position

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Audition day is upon the students of Messina Ballet Academy, and everything is not going well for Beatrice Duke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, hope you enjoy, let me know of any incorrect thingies, and as I am forever a selfish writer please leave comments!

Tuesday was audition day, and the students were relieved of all their academic classes. Time was cut out in the morning for warming up, individual practicing, and class. The entire afternoon was to be auditions. Bea was sitting on the floor with her legs in butterfly, bending her pointe shoe as far as she could. 

“Those are almost broken” Hero said, concerned.

“You know that the closer they are to breaking the better my arches look. And I want to at least make the main corps, so my arches have gotta look as good as possible.

Hero sighed and bent over her outstretched legs. She folded evenly in half and her pointed toes effortlessly poked the hardwood floor. When she saw Beatrice scowling at her own toes, a good inch above the ground, she snapped back up and pulled her legs in.

“Yeah, but those are really on their last legs. You don’t want them breaking before auditions! Or during auditions!”

It was a good point. Bea stopped bending her shoe, and instead slid it onto her foot. Their Swan Lake auditions would be entirely en pointe, so flat shoes class had been reduced to half an hour and the rest of the morning would be spent doing pointe work. Be a stifled a yawn and turned to her cousin, who had resumed stretching.

“I can’t believe the boys got to sleep in while we had ballet, it’s ridiculous.”

Hero responded without breaking her position, back arched with her feet grazing the back on her head. “I mean, they don’t have to go en pointe. And that class really was just a warm up for pointe, so while it’s annoying, it’s not really unfair.”

“But, like, why are we even separated by gender?” Once Bea had gotten started on something, it was hard to get her to stop. “And why don’t boys ever go en pointe? What would Messina do if we had a trans student, or a genderfluid or neutral one? The whole system doesn’t make sense.”

Hero cocked her head. “Yeah, that is a good point. But Messina has always been really accepting, I’m sure they’d-

“Ooh!” she interrupted herself. “The Football players are arriving!” 

Bea groaned while she watched her cousin trot over to the gaggle of girls standing by the mirrors, trying to look casual as the football players entered. She wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. She watched out of the corner of her eye as a tall, shaggy haired brunet loped in, smiling as if being in that studio was the funniest thing to happen to him all year. He needed to take this seriously, Bea thought. This was the premier dance school in New Zealand, and if this dick didn’t realize that he didn’t even deserve to audition. He immediately approached a group of girls leaning on the barres and started telling some animated story that seemed, to Bea, to include far too many arm gestures. 

He was followed by a short scruffy redhead and a slightly stockier boy with hair halfway between blond and brown. Bea tried to figure out who could possibly play whom. She pictured Hero as Odette, and couldn’t imagine any of these football players as her prince. It would probably end up being Claudio. Hopefully their moony eyes wouldn’t interrupt too much rehearsal, she thought with a slight exhale. 

The tall boy was still talking to the girls, loudly enough that Bea could tell he was English. He seemed to be putting on weird voices, and using his hands as puppets, and Bea noticed that all three girls had stopped stretching to listen. Whatever this boy’s story was, it certainly wasn’t worth letting three students potentially get injured during class. Or worth subjecting them to whatever the hell he was saying.

Bea looked him over more thoroughly. He –along with the other two boys- was at least dressed properly: white shirt, black tights. He looked gangly in a way that made it hard to believe he was a talented dancer, especially since he only danced as football training. She looked around, trying to find Claudio. She didn’t know him that well, but it was hard to believe he’d exactly be thrilled about three newbies threatening his lead. He was sulking in the corner, but Bea was more [WORD] about what was going on behind him: Balthazar, stretching at the barre like usual. Balthazar looking very uncomfortable. The stocky blondish boy leaning on the opposite side of the barre, his back to Bea, saying who-knows-what to Balth. Hell no, Bea would not let these football dickheads come in and immediately start bullying the people who actually belonged here. 

She stood up and tried to storm over, only to find herself smacking into the floor with a loud thud. Pointe shoes, right. Not the best for storming. She stood back up and carefully waddled a few steps before thinking ‘fuck it,’ going up on her toes, and striding over to Balth.

“HEY.” Both boys flinched, clearly surprised. “Balthazar is a really talented dancer, and just because he doesn’t run up and down a stupid field kicking things into nets doesn’t mean he’s any less than you in any way whatsoever, got it?”

She turned to Balth, expecting relief and thanks and eternal devotion. Instead he was staring at the floor and shifting on his feet awkwardly.

“Uh, Bea, meet Pedro. We went to primary school together, and I haven’t seen him in a couple of years. We were just catching up. Pedro,” he waved his hand between them, “this is Beatrice.”

Oh. Shit. 

Be a opened her mouth to stammer out an apology, but she was –thankfully- interrupted by their technique teacher, Miss Maria, telling them to take their places.

Miss Maria’s class was usually Bea’s favorite. She was less strict than Miss Olivia, letting them have a little more fun. Instead of traditional ballet music she let them dance to “ballet covers” of pop and musical theatre songs, which Bea Hero and Meg usually had fun lip-synching between across the floors. The relaxed air usually allowed Bea to shine. Today, however, was not her day. She settled into the familiar tendu combination still thinking of Pedro. Clearly, she thought, she was not in the wrong here. She had no way of knowing he was an old friend of Balth’s!

“BEATRICE.” Miss Maria called out. “That was supposed to be a half pirouette, not a soutenu.”

Crap. She glanced at the person in front of her, making sure she was back in the right pattern. Besides, though, if Pedro was really Balth’s friend he would understand why she had been worried. 

Shit, she missed the grande plie. She quickly bobbed down and up. And the fact Pedro had just stared at her like she was an idiot was completely uncalled for, she decided. She was right to distrust the football players from the start. 

“Beatrice! Tailbone in!” Bea tucked her tailbone in. Plie and up and out and in. Out and up and beat beat- and that brown haired boy looked so cocky when he walked in, and now he was at the next bar over –which Bea could see if she twisted just a little bit the wrong way- looking just as cocky as before. She started when she realized he was looking at her too. 

“Left foot” he mouthed with a wink. A wink! Bea glared at him, then looked down. She was on her right foot. Crap.

Bea did not have her best class. Even when she wasn’t glaring at brown-hair-boy, or avoiding eye contact with Pedro or Balthazar, or trying really hard not to compare herself to Hero (who was, as always, nailing every step), she was just plain old off her game. She had to hop out of her turns, she couldn’t reach full splits in her leaps, and even with her eyes trained on the feet of the person in front of her she was always a split second behind. By the time their final across the floor combination rolled around she was in a bad enough mood that when she noticed brown-hair-boy quietly singing along to the peppy piano version of Sixteen Going on Seventeen she couldn’t help but turn to him and ask, voice dripping with sarcasm, whether ‘he needs someone older and wiser telling him what to do’?

He waggled his eyebrows. “So I’m the Liesl in this situation? Does that make… you Rolf?” his eyes lit up “Can I actually be a nun?”

“Shut up.” Bea had just enough time to respond before launching into the combination, which she (thank god, she thought) executed perfectly. It’s never a good idea to insult someone and then fall on your ass trying to do a combo so easy even a football player could do it. 

After the customary curtsies and thank yous Bea ungracefully collapsed in the corner, a heap of pink and black and flyaway hairs. 

“Come on Bea.” said Hero gently, already pulling on a flowery skirt. “It wasn’t that bad of a class.”

“Hero I fell off my box. I haven’t done that since I was 13.” Be a threw her arms over her head, further adding to the heapiness of her current situation.

“Well, you coming to lunch or not?”

“I think I’m just gonna find an empty studio and practice ‘til auditions start. I’ve got enough granola bars in my bag to feed a small army, I’ll be fine.”

Hero shot her cousin a worried look, then shrugged and trotted after Claudio to tell him how straight his knees were or how good his triple turn was or however little ballet dancers flirt. Bea couldn’t be bothered to tell, since she had no interest in flirting in general, and especially at the moment.

Eventually the students had all trickled out and Bea was alone. She stood up and shook out her not-long-enough limbs. She was going to get those 32 fouettes, and she was going to get one more. She was Beatrice Duke, god damn it, and she could dance just as well as anyone else here. She quickly composed a little solo as a lead in, and began. One, two, three, four, five- her foot came down hard. Five. That was worse than her usual worst days. She bit her lip, then backed up a few steps and tried again. Twelve. Not awful. Not good. Hero could probably get twenty five her first try. 

Bea felt a pang of guilt. Ballet pits everyone against one another, she would not let herself pit her against her cousin. She went back to fouetteing. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty… thirty, thirty one, thirty two-

“I like those turns.”

Bea flinched, and hit the ground hard. 

“What the fuck, man?” She turned and saw the brown haired boy. Of course.

“I was gonna wait til you finished spinning, but then it, uh, it didn’t look like you were ever gonna stop.” He reached his hand out to Bea, still on the ground. “Ben. Benadick. Benadick Hobbes.”

Bea stood up without the help of the boy. Of Ben. Whatever. He tried again.

“What are those spins called again? I don’t think I’ve done them.”

Bea sighed, loudly. “First of all, ballet dancers don't 'spin,' we turn. And fouettes. They’re fouettes.”

“RIGHT!” said Ben. “Fouettes. They’re cool. But boys don’t do them. We do, uh…”

“A la secondes.” Bea finished for him, before demonstrating one quickly. “Boys do a la secondes instead, usually.”

“Well,” said Ben, with a big goofy smile, “in my ballet everyone is gonna do the fouette ones.”

If Bea had been drinking water she would have spit it out. “In your ballet?”

“Yeah!” responded Ben, clearly excited to talk about it. “I was in class –not the football ballet ones, the extra ones at the real studio that me Pedro and Seb had to go to- and I was thinking that ballet dancers, they’re really majestic, right? and they go up on one foot a lot-“ he hopped into a messy passé –“and, like, flamingos are really majestic too! And they go up on one foot a lot! So I’m gonna make a ballet about flamingos, where everyone’s just up on one foot all the time.”

Bea just stared at him, incredulous. “That is, quite possibly, the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. In my entire life.”

“There’s a ballet about swans.” Ben pointed out. “And you don't think that's stupid.”

“That is completely different!” protested Beatrice. “You clearly have no appreciation or respect for any of this. You don’t even deserve to be here, some of us have worked our whole lives to get here, we didn’t get invited just because we’re boys who can run down a field! Swan Lake is a classic, and it doesn’t just center on people ‘going up on one foot all the time’ which is, by the way, the worst oversimplification of ballet I have ever heard.”

“Well, when Flamingo Lake dazzles at the Royal Ballet next year remind me not to put you in the corps. Not that you’d get there anyway-“ Ben faltered for a second “-with your bent knees and flaily arms.” 

He turned on his heel and left, and Bea once again sunk to the floor. How did someone complimenting her turns lead to that? Even worse was that Bea knew he was right. She had been a mess in class that day. Her knees were bent and her arms were flaily. But she wasn’t usually like that, she told herself. He had no right to come in and judge her based on five minutes! And ‘Flamingo Lake,’ what the hell was that? Between her altercation with Pedro and that run in with Benadick she was suddenly quite sure that Swan Lake was going to be the worst experience of her life. She didn’t bother to practice any more, instead walking to the bigger studio in which auditions were to be held and nibbling on a granola bar outside the door. She sat in silence and waited for auditions to start, another chance to –she was certain- embarrass herself in front of the entire school plus the football players


	3. Dancing from Spite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's audition time at Messina and Bea is pissed off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty dancy chapter, I promise the next one will be more charactery. Again, I hope y'all like it and I live for comments, so comment away!

“Hello Beatrice.”

Bea started, “Hi Miss Olivia. Sorry. I was just waiting out here since the audition studio wasn’t open yet.”

The teacher smiled. “No problem, Beatrice.” Her slight accent plus her consistent use of student’s full names made every sentence feel dramatic. “I hope your audition goes well, Miss Maria told me you did not have your strongest class today.”

Bea frowned. She didn’t want the entire faculty knowing she had sucked.

“Just a little off my game. I’ll be fine by auditions.”

Luckily, their conversation was interrupted at that point by a wave of students returning from lunch, buzzing with excitement and nerves at the auditions ahead of them. Bea caught sight of her friends. Hero had her lucky pink leg warmers on –the ones she had worn for her Messina audition, and her Clara audition last year. Meg had changed into a regulation black leotard, but tied a thick red ribbon around her bun. 

“Bea!” Hero called her over, and with a polite smile at Miss Olivia she headed towards them. 

“Ready to rock these auditions?” asked Meg, tugging her leg up into a vertical split behind her.

Bea tried to shake off her shitty class, her embarrassment with Balth’s friend, and that absolute asshole Benedick. She forced a smile. “Oh, yeah totally. By the time they’ve seen my audition they’ll just want to cast me in every role. It’ll be like-“ she made dramatic wings with her arms- “I’m Odette!” She clenched her hands into fists- “I’m Odile!” She dramatically dropped to her knees- “I’m the Prince!” She did bouncy passés and threw her arms in the air triumphantly- “I’m the entire corps! It’ll be the most beautiful dance performance you’ve ever seen.”

Hero giggled. “I’m glad to see you’ve cheered up a bit, at least.”

“We missed you at lunch.” added Meg. “We sat with some of the footballers-

Bea interrupted her with a loud groan.

“Come on Bea,” replied Hero in a soft voice. “If you actually talk to them they’re really not that bad.”

“I have talked to them. They’re awful. I’m not changing my mind. But it doesn’t matter, because there’s still few enough of them that none of ‘em will end up in the corps, so I will never have to talk to them again. If I’m lucky.” Bea’s bad mood was back in full force. Flaily arms and bent knees. Like he would know good dancing if it bit him in the butt. 

After a few moments of silent stretching, adjusting leg warmers, and tying ribbons, Meg broke the silence. “Did you hear that those year nine’s dance video hit a million views? People are saying they may even get on, like, So You Think You Can Dance.”

Glad to be on a new topic, Bea quickly joined in. 

“I don’t understand contemporary! I just don’t get it! Why do people think it looks good? What’s the point!”

Hero laughed. “I mean, we have proof via their youtube channel that at least a million people like it. Or a million people find it funny when Verges and Dogberry do those moves that look like they’ve just drowned.”

Bea gasped dramatically, almost forgetting the gloom into which she had just re-sunk. “Is our Hero Duke… making fun of someone?” 

Hero giggled again. “Shut up! Ooh, wait, actually shut up. I think Miss Olivia’s about to make an announcement.”

“Alright dancers! Welcome to Messina Ballet Academy’s Swan Lake auditions! I expect to see all of you in top shape today, you were excused from class tomorrow to ensure top preparedness, and I better not see anything less.” 

Bea could swear she felt Miss Olivia’s eyes on her when she said that, and she quickly trained her gaze at the floor.

“This year,” the teacher continued, “we will be doing things a little differently. To give you a taste of the professional dance world, and to assure a lack of bias, we have brought in Mr. Orsino, a guest casting director. You will split into groups based on role, and learn a short routine. 

“Group by group you will perform for Mr. Orsino. To our newer students,” she glanced at the footballers, “don’t worry, our Messina boys will walk you through the process. 

“Students wishing to audition for the corps are asked to instead join a group for any principal, and note on their form that they are auditioning for the corps. We will consider you for both.”

Bea wasn’t sure what to do. She couldn’t audition for Odette, not with Hero a lock for the part. She supposed she’d go with the Odile group. After all, she could do the fouettes for it. 

“Now, will students wishing to audition for Odette please head into Studio II to begin.” 

Bea squeezed Hero’s hand. “You’re gonna be awesome. Don’t be nervous, okay?” 

“Thanks Bea, you too! You’ll be lovely!”

Miss Olivia continued. “Students auditioning for Odile, please go to Studio IV.”

Bea stood up, as did Meg. All right, time to do this. The switch up had Bea a little shaken. Next to fellow auditionees for the corps she was sure she’d have been fine, but she knew she would pale in comparison with the principal dancers. It was honestly, in her opinion, a pretty stupid way of casting things. Whatever. She squared her jaw and focused: her reputation as Messina’s hardest working student would not be ruined by one shitty day. As soon as she got to Studio VI she dropped into splits, hoping to make a good first impression on whoever entered the room to teach their audition routine. She winced. Not warmed up enough. Would anything at all go right for her today?

Their choreographer clapped her hands loudly for attention. Bea did not know her very well, she was new this year and mostly taught the year nine and tens. 

“Okay my evil evil black swans. Take your places in the center, please. This is gonna be fun, I love doing the mean dances!”

The teacher began walking them through the steps, and Bea followed along with her hands. It wasn’t too difficult. 

“Most important here,” said the teacher “is the emotion. Odile has a lot of hatred, a lot of spite and bitterness, so try and channel that through your dance. Let’s run what we have.”

The music started and Bea focused. Up and down and three and four and- oh, crap, wrong foot. One and two and arabesque and down and- no, shit, that was supposed to be a turn. Bea knew that this routine would come easily any other day of her life. So why wasn’t it today? 

“Alright everyone, looks great! Now, at the end we have enough room for ten fouettes. If you can’t do that, I’d prefer a clean five to a wobbly ten. Go as far as you can then wait, okay? Great.” 

They continued running the dance. Bea gave up all pretense of facial expression and kept her eyes trained on the feet of the other dancers. She got eight fouttes. 

Bea was sure that she could get this okay. She just needed a few more runs. What time was their audition anyway? Half an hour should be enough to get the routine Main Corps ready. 

“Alright guys,” the teacher said, thwarting Bea’s hopes in one fell swoop. “We get the special treat this year of watching every other group’s auditions! So let’s head back into the main studio.”

Bea groaned. Not only was she having a shitty day, and not only was she not ready, but also now the whole school would see her fail. The football players would see her fail. Hero would see her fail!

The Odettes went first, and Hero was –of course- perfect. She danced like a feather being blown about by the wind, as if it took her no effort whatsoever. Her leaps and jumps looked like flying, her muscles not straining a bit. She was a lock for Odette. Bea felt a surge of pride for her cousin. 

The auditions for the Prince were scarce, with all of the footballers instead dancing for the villain. Claudio was sure to get it, which came as a surprise to precisely nobody.

The villain group was more interesting. To Bea’s ultimate annoyance, the football players weren’t awful. Pedro’s dancing was strong, powerful. He danced like a football player, sure, but in a good way. All that running around had clearly made his legs strong. Bea could see that Balthazar’s eyes were trained on him too.

Ben was annoyingly good. He remembered all the moves, at least. He was spry and agile, and even occasionally remembered to add a facial expression or a little flair to his arms. But still, Bea told herself, his kicks were low, his leaps were loose and overpowered, and he occasionally seemed more like a whirl of motion than an in-control ballet dancer. And he called turns “spins.” When the music ended he gave a big Broadway-style bow. Bea hoped the judges would find it as obnoxious as she did. As obnoxious as it was.

“Odiles now, please. Take your places.”

Bea stood up and headed to a safe spot, right in the middle of the center row. She felt clunky just standing there. She was sure she stuck out like a sore thumb, even though her position was identical to all those around her. She turned to look at Hero, to try and gauge from her cousin’s face whether anything was truly terribly off, but her eyes found Benedick’s instead. He smirked and turned to the boy next to him, the redheaded football player. Ben whispered something, and the redhead laughed and nodded, eyes flitting to Beatrice. 

Alright, thought Beatrice, fuck that. Fuck him. The harsh piano notes began and Bea danced with pure spite. Some asshole wasn’t going to come in her and laugh at her, say she had flaily arms and bent knees. Bea kept her knees perfectly aligned, springing from deep plies to rod-straight legs, making her leaps perfect lines and her kicks as even as possible. She whipped her arms in and out of positions exactly on time, not letting them waver for even an instant. Fuck ‘flaily’. The routine whirled by. 98% of Bea’s brain was technical, (arms out, chin up, belly in) but somewhere in the back of her mind she recognized that she was nailing it. She was dancing from hatred, and damn if it wasn’t working. 

Before she knew it it was the end. Time for the fouttes. One fouette, two fouettes, three fouettes. Her eyes were trained on her spot, but she could see other girls out of the corners of her eyes. Four fouettes. Someone just wavered. Five fouettes. Bea felt a pang of disappointment in herself at how happy she had just felt seeing someone else fall. Six fouettes. No time for thinking. Seven fouettes. She hoped Hero would do okay, and wondered how hard to Odette audition piece was. Eight fouettes. Another girl just fell. Nine fouettes. Bea was still upright. Ten fouttes.

Bea landed perfectly. She smiled a slow, smirky smile, just as she was sure Odile would. She turned to the judges, catching Ben’s eye as she did. He quickly looked down and she smiled even wider before curtsying and scurrying back to the gaggle of students sitting against the walls. 

“Oh my God, Bea!” Hero’s face was beaming. That was amazing! I didn’t even know you could dance that that, oh my god! You’re totally gonna get Odile!”

Bea started to thank her cousin before they were both shushed by another student. She settled for shooting Hero a smile then leaning against the wall to watch the next group. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Hero said. She had never even considered getting Odile. She had been aiming for Main Corps, and that performance wasn’t even spurred from a desire to impress the judges, it was just to prove Ben wrong. Would she get Odile? Surely not, surely Hero was just being nice. But when she thought back on the faces of her peers as the music ended, how their eyes were all on her, she began to wonder.


	4. Zest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang eats lunch, the cast list is posted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it's a little short and a little choppy, I've had the WORST writers block. As always, don't be shy, let me know what you think :)

The cast list was to be posted at one, so naturally nobody paid any attention to their classes all morning. Students doodled swans in the margins of their math worksheets. They sketched tutu designs on the backs of history handouts. The lunch room was filled with fingertips tapping nervously on tables and hushed voices skittering around the topic their minds were all on: what parts they’d get.

Meg sat down with a flourish –which almost went without saying, as Meg did everything with a flourish- and batted her eyelashes in that way that way of hers that let her friends know a big announcement was on the way.

“I’ve invited them to sit with us.”

Bea looked up from her good-luck-and-self-pity meal of cupcakes. The feeling in her stomach told her that she already knew the answer, but she had to ask:

“Invited whom?”

Meg giggled. “The boys! I had no choice, honestly. The tall fluffy haired one was sitting by Claudio under the tree and just talking at him. Poor Claud looked like a deer in the headlights, so I made sure they knew they were both welcome with us, along with any of the other football kids.”

Bea heaved as dramatic a sigh as she possibly could, and subsequently crumpled onto the table. She knew she was being unfair, she knew that the football players couldn’t all be like Ben, and she even knew, a little bit, that that fight was partly her fault. She also knew that she didn’t care. 

Bea heard a male voice, muffled through the layers of hair and clothes and arms over her head:

“Thanks for letting us sit with you.” Then another, followed by a chuckle:

“Is she dead?”

Bea raised her eyes to find exactly who she expected. “No, but you will be soon.”

“She’s kidding!” Hero jumped in. “Just having a bad day. So, uh, how’d your auditions go yesterday?” 

Voice #1, now identified as Pedro, was first to respond.

“It was okay. I remembered all the moves and stuff, but you know, flexibility…” Pedro continued thoroughly analyzing his audition, but Beatrice could hardly focus on anything on voice #2, now identified as Benedick.

“I’m sorry, but what are you doing to that poor fruit?”

“Bea!” hissed Hero, shooting her a patented “be polite!” Hero look.

“No, no, it’s fine!” Ben said, before turning to Bea. “For your information, I am zesting it.”

“And why the literal hell would you be doing that?”

“You see,” Ben responded, in that cocky, patronizing way that made Beatrice want to punch him, “this” –he held up the orange- “is an orange. And this” –he held up his cupcake- “is a cupcake. And as anyone who’s eaten a chocolate orange can tell you, chocolate and orange taste delicious together. Hence, me zesting my orange onto my cupcake.”

This was so stupid that Bea needed a second to collect her thoughts. Literally. That stupid.

“Okay, first of all, that’s the most pretentious thing I’ve ever seen. Do you just carry around a zester? Do you think that’ll impress people? And you know that the outside of an orange is just soaked with chemicals, right? They put wax on them! You may as well be eating a candle.”

Ben opened his mouth to respond, but Pedro cut him off quickly. 

“SO how long have you guys been doing ballet? Ben and I have been playing football since year three. Well, I started in year two, then Ben did.”

Hero and Meg jumped at the change in conversation, and eagerly filled in Pedro with their life stories. As they spoke, the time ticked closer to one and the cafeteria around them got more and more anxious. Lunches were mostly finished, and the young dancers were fidgeting, speaking quietly, and glancing at the clock several times per minute. At 1:58 a lone year 8 stood up and turned towards the door, and all hell broke loose. The entire school of dancers lept to their feet and hurtled towards the door, a cavalcade of black and pink. 

Bea was the first one at the list. She kept her fingers tightly crossed in the pocket of her coat. Whispering “main corps main corps main corps” under her breath, she read from the middle down. Barely reading each name after registering it as not hers, she scanned the list of the main corps. Getting to the bottom without reading “Beatrice Duke” felt like a gut punch. She was having a bad day, sure, but that audition had seemed good enough. People had even told her it was good! Her fist clenched, her sadness manifesting as anger as usual. A thousand complaints and rants to Hero flitted through her head.

She skipped down to the additional corps, the girls who are in a few dances, who don’t do anything fun or challenging. She searched for her name, for the final confirmation of her failure. Strangely, she didn’t find it. Her hand loosened by her side, then lifted to help her scan the paper again. It raised above the lists of corps dancers, to the names of the principal dancers, the names of the leads. Hero was Odette, that wasn’t a shock. Claudio was the prince, good for him. Then, next to Odile: Beatrice Duke. 

She turned on her heel and elbowed through the throng of people. Hero was standing behind the crowd and eagerly grabbed Bea’s outstretched hands.

“Did I get Odette?”

“Of course!” Bea yelled, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Did you get main corps?”

“No!”

Hero stepped backwards with a puzzled look on her face, until Beatrice continued:

“I got Odile!”

“OH MY GOD!”

The next few seconds were a clamor of squealing and congratulating and jumping. 

Meg soon ran up to them, trailed by the boys, who seemed to be following her like puppies.

“BEA! Congrats! And Hero, we all saw that coming”

“Ah!” Bea yelled back. “Thank you! I’m glad my arms weren’t too flaily to be cast.” She smiled sarcastically at Ben before returning her gaze to Meg. “I’m so sorry, I totally didn’t read the whole list, who are you?”

Meg giggled. “I will, obviously, be playing the Queen, as that’s who I am. Pedro here is the tutor and a couple other feaured parts, and Ben-“

“I,” interupted Ben, “will be playing the esteemed role of Von Rothbart, who according to Wikipedia here, is not only the ‘central antagonist’ –read: star- but also your’ –pointing at Bea- “father.”

“Yeah.” Said Bea. “I’m well aware of who Von Rothbart is. Some of us know what we’re talking about.” How did this boy manage to ruin her good moods so quickly? “Hero, wanna use our free period to practice in a spare studio?”

“Oh,” replied Hero, looking slightly dazed by the very sudden mood shift. “Sure. Do you guys want to join us?”

“Meg has history.” interjected Bea, “and I’m sure the boys are busy. Let’s hurry before studio L is taken, it’s the best one.”

Studio L was taken. Bea pulled Hero into studio J and clicked on some random piano music. She forced a smile and turned to her cousin. 

“So we need to get whipped into shape for this show.” Bea hoped Hero would recognize her “don’t wanna talk about it’ face, and luckily she did. Bea stretched while Hero ran a few of her old Clara dances as warm ups. The girls didn’t really speak to one another, but it was the sort of comfortable silence only siblings and life long best friends can have. Bea knew that stretching a split or falling out of a double was better with Hero in the room. Regardless of whatever else happened, they would be playing the swans and they would do a damn good job. Benedick could go to hell.


	5. This is ballet, Mr. Bond.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for the first Swan Lake rehearsal!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I haven't updated this in 16 months, OOPS. It was my New Years Resolution though so I'm getting at least this one chapter out of the way. And I have at least a vague idea of a plot now, so let's do this, NMTD fandom! Is there even an NMTD fandom anymore? Methinks not. But whatever. Enjoy!

The first rehearsal was that night. Bea sat on the floor of the studio and told herself everything was normal. She focused on her left shoe. It was the same shoe she had worn to practice with Hero before dinner. The same shoe she had worn at auditions- no. Don’t think about auditions. The same shoe she had worn to class all year. The shoe that had carried her through classes and rehearsals and auditions dozens of times. This time was no different. Just another boring, normal rehearsal.

If she focused hard enough she could almost believe it.

“Do you… not know how to tie your shoe?”

...and focus broken. When did he even get there? 

“I know how to tie my shoe.” Perhaps her voice carried a bit more venom than necessary, but the mere presence of the boys was enough to force her to remember where she was and that was something which she had been trying very hard not to remember.

“Well, you were kind of, like, staring…” Hero pointed out, eyes flitting between Bea’s face and the untied shoe on her foot.

“Traitor,” mumbled Bea as she set to work tying her shoe with fingers as steady as she could force them. 

“It’s not as if there are teams here-” Hero started to reply, but was cut off by Ben:

“Can there be? I pick Pedro.” 

Pedro laughed, and Bea watched, horrified, as the boys did some sort of secret-handshake-fist-bump-ordeal. She would have to force Hero to come up with one for them that night. Though she wasn’t sure if the traitor could be trusted to not immediately reveal that it was not, in fact, the years old tradition they would have to pretend it was. Hmm. Maybe like, a high five? Followed by a butterfly thing. Could they pull off a fist bump?

Ben didn’t need to break her out of her trance this time. The hush that fell over the chattering crown of teenagers was enough on its own to pull Bea out of her fantasies of handshakes, but it was quickly followed by the graceful boom of Ms. Maria’s voice.

“Good evening my swanlings! Welcome to our very first rehearsal!” 

The footballers broke out into whoops and cheers which quickly fell silent when every perfectly-hairsprayed head in the room whipped towards them -- including a slightly amused Ms. Maria, who continued without addressing them.

“You will not usually be called to rehearsal all together like this. A schedule will be posted shortly detailing which corps and principal will be called where each night. Tonight will be more of a character building night. A get-to-know-you night, for our newer cast members.”  
She glanced at the boys. Pedro smiled. Benedick waved. Bea rolled her eyes. Ms. Maria continued:

“The corps will work together all night to choreograph a piece that will tell the story of the ballet in three minutes. The principals will be paired up to do the same for the relationships between their characters. You will each have three pairings, one minute each. Let’s start with…hmm. The Prince and the Queen, Odette and Odile, the Baron and, uh, the Tutor…” She continued to pair up all of the non-corps dancers, then with a clap and a “get to work” they were off.

Hero joined Bea by the wall and propped her leg on the barre to stretch. “You were a bit nervous for rehearsal, yeah?”

Bea responded with a fervent “no,” but she was well aware that Hero knew her well enough to see through it. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll be amazing. We all know it.” She patted Bea’s arm. “Now, let’s get to killing me!” 

Bea chucked and waggled her eyebrows. “I’ve secretly wanted to a long time, Ms. Duke.”

Hero smiled. “Ah, Bond villain Odile. A bold choice.”   
Choreographing their minute wasn’t hard. Their characters weren’t particularly nuanced and they had spent enough of their childhoods making up basement ballets to be easily in sync. After they had gotten through the basics of the dance and begun to practice, Hero announced that she was off to the water fountain and Bea was left momentarily alone. She leaned on the wall to catch her breath and see what the other groups were up to. Meg and Claudio had danced together before and it looked like they were doing fine. The idea of Meg being anyone’s mother was funny, but she certainly had the swagger of a Queen in her dancing. The strange year nines were showing the corps how to balance on each other’s back to look like birds. The footballers seemed to be fitting in nicely, and Bea couldn’t help but admit it was nice to have some more people to be on the supporting ends of lifts. Her begrudging support lasted about as long as it took for her to turn her attention to the principal footballers’ pair.

The evil King and the Prince’s Tutor didn’t interact at all in the ballet, which did not seem to be stopping Pedro and Benedick. Pedro sat on the floor and pretended to read a book, elaborately turning pages and pushing up imaginary glasses. Benedick pranced around him with a cartoonish evil grin. Occasionally Pedro would try to show Benedick something in the book. Benedick would rob him or threaten him or slam the book to the ground. Pedro would try and scold him. Eventually Benedick waggled his fingers and Pedro dramatically transformed into a swan. 

It was not ballet. It was… a comedy routine? Maybe. What it was certainly was athletes mocking art. Bea glowered. 

The alarm on Ms. Maria’s watch went off just as Hero trotted back into the studio. A quick exchange of glances and mouthed words established that yeah, they had the steps down good enough, they’d be fine to improvise the details at the end of the night. Hero was paired with Claudio next. Bea pretended not the notice the way she bobbed on her feet and smiled as she looked over at him. Bea was with Ben. Hero pretended not to notice that she let her head fall back against the wall and let out a tiny “ugh”. She whispered a good luck and scurried off to her prince. And then it was Bea and Ben.

He started talking immediately. 

“So!” Bea hated how much pep he stuffed into that one stupid British-accented syllable. “I was thinking that we start with you, like, pretending to hatch like a baby swan.”

“This is ballet,” Bea clarified. 

“Ok, we start with you balleting hatching-“

“-not a verb.” Bea cut in. “And also, no.” 

Benedick looked at her as if expecting something, but no way was Bea going to choreograph a whole thing for them. That was not her job.

“Ooookay.” Ben continued. “Um, how about you do your sp- turns. The turns you were doing yesterday. Fouettes?”

“No, no, that’s kind of, like, braggy. Fouettes, I mean. People get really competitive about them. And I’m not that amazing at them anyway. Wouldn’t want to scare the whole company with my flailing arms, would I?”

“Alright, so you don’t let things go. Whatever, fine. We’re evil –you seem quite in character already—, we’re father and daughter; this isn’t that complicated. We can just do it the boring way.” 

By “the boring way” he seemed to have meant “the right way”, which was a relief, but their rehearsal didn’t get any better. They had to choreograph around his limited knowledge, and when Bea moved to fix his arm placement he actually flinched away from her. As if she were some sort of rabid dog. 

Hero and Claudio, meanwhile, seemed to be getting along just beautifully. Their piece had its fair share of lifts and moves that allowed them long, annoyingly in-character moments of staring into each others eyes. Ben seemed to have pulled his head out of his ass enough to notice too, because he asked Bea if there was, in his words, “a thing going on”.

“Soon, probably,” Bea responded.

“Ugh,” Ben rolled his eyes “Relationships are for losers.” He quickly caught himself: “NOT that your cousin is a loser! Or Claud! At all! They seem very nice! I just am, personally, averse to the idea of relationships. Because they’re stupid. Unlike your cousin. Right.” 

Bea just blinked. Too confused to unpack all… that, she decided not to. “The women of the world thank you.” Then, a beat later: “I agree.”

Ben smiled wide. “Ah! A redeeming quality! We’ve found one!”

Bea did not resign to answer and instead began her part of their dance from the beginning. Ben watched for a moment before joining in, and thankfully for Bea the timer rang soon after. 

They rotated through a few more pairings. Bea formed a solid opinion on Pedro’s dancing and personality (solid, for both) and learned a new partner step from Meg. The performances went fine save for a bobbled turn here and a bent leg there, nothing that couldn’t be fixed. Ben and Pedro’s garnered laughs, but Bea managed to tune out completely and visualize the performance. Her, in black feathers and tutus. Flawless dancing. Thunderous applause. The boys’ performance was over in a blink, and in another so was rehearsal.

Soon Bea’s shoes were off and her sweater was on and she began the walk back to her dorm. She was surrounded by the gray fog of the whole past few days. The shitty classes, the annoying boys, the part she only hoped she could dance.

Still, though, she had gotten it. She had auditioned and she had gotten it. Cuz she was a god damn badass. She let a smile creep across her lips. 

“BEATRICE!” Bea whipped around to see Hero bounding towards her. “Beatrice,” she panted when she was finally within panting range. “He did it. He asked me out. Claudio! I mean, he said we should get dinner and talk about our characters or whatever but, like, it was pretty clear.” 

All feelings about relationships aside, it was hard for Bea not to smile when she saw her cousin so happy. 

“First we get Odette and Odile,” Hero continued, “and now this! Everything’s turning out perfect!”

Bea pushed her fog even further away. She focused on Odie. On her near perfect fouettes. On Hero’s smile.

“Yep. Everything’s turning out perfect.”


End file.
